Chapter 96: A World of Hidden Traps!
The veteran’s words left everyone baffled—what had they missed?
He continued explaining in the global chat:
[Remember Rule 7? When using the hallway, ensure the lights are on. Leave before they turn off. None of the dead triggered the lights!]
Suddenly, it clicked.
So that’s the trap!
A trap so devious, most wouldn’t even think of it.
And with morning grogginess clouding their judgment, that split-second oversight had cost them their lives.
Though it was technically “morning,” with enough light to see, the Chosen Ones instinctively assumed the hallway was safe—no need to activate the motion-sensor lights.
But Rule 7 never specified when the lights were required—only that they had to be on in the hallway.
Those who failed to realize this paid the price.
The death toll skyrocketed to 39 before finally stopping.
The rest had caught on.
Except for Zhang Yangqing, who strolled out without a care.
Not a guaranteed-death rule? Then come at me, you overconfident freaks.
Whether yesterday’s slaughter had wiped them out or the horrors simply dared not approach, Zhang walked freely—no lights triggered, no ambushes.
He moved through the apartment complex with deliberate ease, scouting for reliable contacts.
Even Dragon Country’s analysts were puzzled.
Why only 12 deaths last night (high danger) but 39 this morning (seemingly safe)?
Hu Liuqi, a survivor himself, had the answer:
*”Last night, everyone expected danger. They were hyper-alert, planning countermeasures. With this batch’s skill level, 12 deaths from misjudgments isn’t shocking.*
This morning? The ‘normal’ ambiance lowered their guard. Rushing to interact with tenants, they overlooked Rule 7.”
His insight earned nods—and praise.
Flustered, Hu waved it off.
Hindsight’s easy. In the moment? I might’ve missed it too.
Inside the Nightmare World
Now alert to the rules, the Chosen Ones hunted for targets.
Early-bird tenants were ignored; the focus was on those who’d be around for lunch.
Abe Hirohira approached a brawny, normally-dressed tenant—a safe bet for securing food.
The request? “Scratch my back. Can’t reach it myself.”
Sakura Country’s top onmyōji, reduced to a back-scratcher.
But survival demanded it.
Others faced similar (or worse) tasks:
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Basic: Wiping shoes, cleaning rooms.
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Brutal: Korea’s rep was sent to plant trees on a rain-soaked hillside.
Raincoat Rules: Only 2 hours of daily use before losing waterproofing.
Most hoarded every minute.
Yet Korea’s Chosen One gritted his teeth and went—earning a second raincoat as reward.
A game-changer: +2 hours outdoors.
(Though far from the direct-win relics like Australia’s Jones’ Director’s Coat last run.)
Kangaroo Country’s Jones narrowly escaped death—slipping on a wet hallway, his yelp triggering the lights.
“Did I just cheat fate?”
Veteran instincts kicked in; he kept the lights active thereafter.
Meanwhile, Zhang Yangqing—amidst the downpour—walked with surreal grace, his raincoat shielding him.
Every step was measured.
This world thrived on traps—literal and figurative.
Puddles weren’t just nuisances; the tainted rainwater made them lethal.
(If getting drenched harms you, immersion would be catastrophic.)
The apartment complex sprawled wider than expected, buildings spaced oddly apart.
Some structures looked even creepier than his own.
Where others fled, Zhang memorized locations for later… visits.
The Community Bulletin Board
At the complex’s entrance, a covered noticeboard displayed job listings:
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Supermarket: Hiring (limited spots).
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Cafeteria: Mass recruitment.
Critical Intel (from the curly-haired tenant):
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Cafeteria = Meat only.
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Supermarket = Veg only.
Logic:
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Supermarket = Safer (no mystery meat).
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Cafeteria’s bulk hiring? Suspicious.
(Veteran instincts whispered: “Probably sourcing ‘staff’ as ingredients.”)
Yet as viewers debated Zhang’s choice…
He turned back.
Why work there himself when he could… delegate?
